Home At Last
by dementadoom
Summary: After months of being lost and homeless, Raphael has finally been reunited with the family he never knew he had. But on his first day in his new home, his fears and insecurities begin to plague him.
1. Chapter 1

_Notes: This takes place in the IDW comic book continuity, so here's some details if you haven't read the comics yet. In this continuity, Raphael was separated from Splinter and the other three Turtles during the mutation process — they ended up in the sewer together, while he was left on the surface with no name, no memories, and no idea who or what he was._

 _So he was homeless for the next year, while his three brothers were constantly searching for him. Eventually Raph meets, defends and befriends Casey Jones, and his brothers in turn rescue him from a mutant cat who tries to shoot him in the head. They all head back to their sewer home, with Raphael now knowing his name and origin. That brings us to the present…_

* * *

The first thing he heard when he woke was the sound of water dripping on concrete.

It had all been a dream after all.

His stomach clenched tightly at the thought, and he kept his eyes pressed shut for the moment. It had been such a good dream that he didn't want it to end, even though he now knew it hadn't been real. It had started out as a nightmare — a scraggly, one-eyed cat and his gang beating the crap out of him — but then it had turned into the best dream he could ever remember having.

 _I must be under the overpass again,_ he thought miserably. _It's probably raining outside…_

A hard lump rose in his throat, but he forced it back down before it could bring tears to his eyes. He only allowed himself the luxury of tears when the loneliness, the hunger, the cold became too much to bear. Disappointment wasn't a good enough reason… not on the streets…

"Raphael?"

His eyes snapped open before he could stop himself. He found himself staring up into a pair of dark eyes in a broad green face. It was almost like looking in a mirror. The only difference was that the person looking at him was wearing a narrow bright red mask stretched across the upper half of his face, save for the eyeholes.

"Sorry," the other turtle said, looking slightly abashed. "You looked like you were in pain for a moment there. I thought you might be having a nightmare."

"I — no, I'm fine," Raphael said awkwardly, scrambling off of the thin mattress he was lying on.

"Are you sure? It's okay if you want to sleep in some more…"

"No, I'm awake now… er…" Raphael stared awkwardly at the other turtle, racking his brain for the names they had given him the night before. Which one was he again?

"Leonardo," the other turtle supplied, apparently sensing his dilemma. "You'll figure out what names go with whom."

Raphael hoped so. He was still getting used to having a name himself — before last night, he hadn't had the faintest idea what he had been called. Or if anyone had ever called him anything, for that matter. It was only when the other three turtles — Donatello, Leonardo and Michelangelo — swooped in to save him from that alleycat's gang that he had heard a name that was uniquely his own.

And they had treated him as if they had known about him all their lives, bringing him back with them to their home and introducing him to their father. Who was a rat. For some strange reason, this didn't seem odd to Raphael — Splinter had greeted him with tears streaming down his furry face, and had folded Raphael into his thin arms. And somehow, it felt right. It felt… normal.

That had seemed to loosen up the other three Turtles, who had swept down on Raphael and embraced him with hugs and clasped hands. He had felt almost giddy. No one in Raphael's life had ever been happy to see him before. The reactions he received just for existing ranged from being called a disgusting freak to screams and cries for help. He wasn't sure how to respond to someone actually being glad he was there.

He followed Leonardo to the area set up as a kitchen, with a rickety stove and a large wooden table. The other two turtles — Donatello and Michelangelo, though he was still sketchy on which was which — were sitting there, chatting quietly between themselves.

And Splinter was sitting on a tatami mat not far away, his grey fur shining in the light of the electric lamps hanging overhead. When he opened his eyes, they immediately went to Raphael, and a strange look went through them. It was if he were overjoyed and saddened at the same time.

"Want some breakfast?" one of the other turtles said, smiling at him. "I kept Michelangelo from finishing the pizza, just in case you wanted some."

"I'll finish it if you don't want it," Michelangelo said, looking hopeful.

Raphael didn't have to be told twice. There were three slices in the box on the table, and he practically swallowed them whole in a matter of seconds. When he was finished, he glanced around, and felt his green face flushing slightly. The others were still watching him intently, as if they were studying his every move.

"You seem pretty hungry," said the turtle who had first spoken — Donatello, Raphael supposed — as he rose from his chair. "Do you want any more?"

"Yes," Raphael said quickly. He added belatedly, "Please."

He looked down at his hands as Donatello began rattling around the kitchen, humming faintly to himself.

"It must have been really hard in the streets, wasn't it?" Leonardo said, sympathy seeping into his voice.

"Yeah, it was… hard," Raphael said. The word didn't seem like enough to cover the way he actually felt, and all the long, cold nights of scrabbling for crumbs, sleeping behind dumpsters and fighting his way past any idiot who wanted to kill him for being what he was.

And now… the whole situation felt vaguely unreal, as if he were going to wake up any minute now and discover that there was no family, no home, nothing but more hunger and cold. He was almost braced for it.

What they didn't know was that he had fantasized about this sort of thing almost every day for the past year, for as long as he could remember. Family. He had seen it in glimpses of others' families, which only made him ache for it more. He had seen them pass him by in the streets, blissfully unaware of the reptile lurking in the shadows and watching them.

That was the reason Casey's no-good dad beating on him had enraged Raphael so much. That wasn't how families were supposed to be.

Every day, he had daydreamed about turning a corner and finding himself facing people like himself, people who would recognize him as being someone they knew and loved, someone they wanted to bring home and care for. They would take him off the streets, and he would never be alone again. There had been days when his heart ached for that dream to happen, but the cold, uncaring world around him had been just the same as always.

So it didn't seem entirely real when his fantasy had come true.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Donatello placed a plate in front of him, piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs and a few strips of bacon, and waited expectantly.

Raphael stared at the plate, feeling a sudden wrench in his chest. It was the only time in his life someone had fixed food just for him.

"What's wrong?" Donatello said, uncrossing his arms. "You don't like eggs? I can fix you something else if you'd like—"

"No, no, I like eggs," Raphael said quickly. "I just — th-thank you for this."

He began eating eagerly, both out of his lasting hunger and out of a desire to not offend Donatello. He could feel the other three Turtles watching him unobtrusively, trying not to stare but seemingly fascinated by what he was doing.

When at last Raphael put down his plate, it was immediately snatched up by Donatello and taken to the sink. Leonardo stood up from the chair he had been straddling, and smiled. "Well, bro, it's time for us to start practicing for the day. Do you want to come watch?"

"I—I guess so," Raphael said.

"Good. Come right this way."


	2. Chapter 2

The practice room turned out to be an even larger stretch of sewers, with a high ceiling and large pipes snaking along the walls. It was the size of a small gymnasium, which made it perfect for… for whatever "practice" entailed. Raphael wasn't entirely sure, but having seen his brothers fighting Old Hob's gang, he knew it was probably some of that kung-fu or whatever.

Leonardo paused next to a rack of weapons, including the two swords he had carried the previous day, and crouched down to retie a bandage around his ankle. Raphael watched him, feeling more uncertain than ever.

To humans, he and Leonardo probably looked alike. They had the same lean, muscular bodies covered in green skin, the same-shaped heads, similar-looking shells. Two mutant turtles, so basically the same, except for maybe some minor differences in skin tone and features.

But to Raphael's eyes, they looked completely different. Part of it was what Leonardo wore. The belt, scarlet mask and bandages on his joints didn't really cover much of his body — certainly not as much as Raphael's ragged old coat — but it set him apart in an indefinable, unmistakable way. He was a ninja, and he looked it.

The other way was how he moved. Raphael had no illusions about his own fighting style or the way he moved — he fought like a brawler, using his fists first and foremost, and after that he would use any other way of winning that he could. Feet, knees, elbows, teeth if necessary, objects if he could get his hands on them. There were plenty of times he'd had to use those against thugs in back alleys, and he knew how to street-fight with the best of them.

But Leonardo moved like a cat, all casual grace and strength. Every muscle in his body seemed to flow into his movements without even thinking about it, which made even something as graceless as retying a bandage look impressive. And the way he and the others had fought last night… Raphael had never seen anything like it. It was like watching a ballet dancer, with all the seemingly weightless leaps and kicks, except that no ballet dancer carried weapons that they easily kicked butt with.

It made Raphael feel awkward when he thought about it. They were already so good, so skilled, so adept at fighting that he felt like a clumsy oaf beside them. One of them could have taken down Casey's dad without even breaking a sweat. How could he even begin to compare?

Michelangelo and Donatello were already at the other end of the room when Leonardo straightened up. One leaped effortlessly out of the way of a kick, then swung his own leg down in an arc towards the other, which in turn was dodged. More kicks, swipes and strikes ensued, with most of them being expertly dodged as if they were a choreographed dance rather than a play-battle.

Leonardo watched silently until Donatello finally tipped Michelangelo off-balance, winning the practice bout. Then without a word, Donatello dropped into a fighting stance opposite Leonardo, who sprang towards him, sweeping his arm towards Donatello's head.

When that bout had ended — Leonardo won, but only barely — the three of them picked up their weapons and began sparring again, dodging each other's lightning-quick strikes. A few of them landed, but harmlessly, such as Leonardo smacking Michelangelo with the flat of his sword rather than the edge, or Donatello tapping both of them with the ends of his bo staff.

Raphael watched them spar for what seemed like hours, feeling more and more an outsider with every move he observed. They looked as though they had been training this way since the day they were born, until it was as easy and natural as breathing. He felt like a mass of unruly joints and bones beside them, and felt a stab of embarrassment when he thought of his fight the night before.

But what really chafed at his soul was the simple fact that it was the three of them performing their martial dance together. He didn't belong with them. Maybe he never would, no matter how welcome they tried to make him feel, no matter how they tried to include him.

"Nice going, guys," Leonardo finally said, sheathing his swords.

"If by nice, you mean embarrassing," Michelangelo retorted.

"Hey, you were wide open. You asked to get knocked on your butt," Donatello said playfully.

As Donatello and Michelangelo bickered amiably, Leonardo broke away and came towards Raphael, still holding his swords.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"You guys are… are really good," Raphael said lamely. "I mean, I've seen a lot of street fightin', but nothing like that before."

"Well, you must not have run into any ninjas before."

"You got that right. I'd've remembered somethin' like that."

Leonardo smiled, and slung the swords behind his shoulder. "What do you think about doing it yourself?"

Raphael's eyes widened. "Me? No, I—I couldn't do something like that. Not me."

"Why not?"

 _Because I'm not as good as the rest of you. Because I don't belong,_ hovered on Raphael's tongue. He swallowed the words painfully, and said at last, "Because I—I can't fight like that. I don't know how."

Leonardo put a hand on his shoulder, and his voice became more soothing and gentle. "Raphael, none of us knew how at first. When we were first mutated — the three of us, I mean — we knew nothing about how to fight. We were like babies, blank slates. Sensei taught us how to fight for months and months, for hours every day, before we became the way you see us now. You can learn how too, if you're willing."

Raphael opened and closed his mouth a few times, then nodded. "I—I'd like that," he said.

Leonardo's smile widened. "Good. Then you're gonna start sparring with us tomorrow. And don't worry, it won't be as intense as what I just did with Donnie and Mikey. But after seeing what you can do last night, I have the feeling that you won't need to start at the very beginning either. You'll catch up in no time."

There was something about the warm way he said it that made Raphael feel that his older brother wasn't just trying to make him feel better — it sounded like he really thought Raphael could learn to fight the way they did. And though he felt a flutter of apprehension in his stomach, Raphael suddenly wanted to do it more than anything — if nothing else, to be more like his brothers.


	3. Chapter 3

After a brief break for lunch, there was more sparring in the practice room — although not all of it was fighting each other. Raphael sat silently on a chair, observing his brothers as each one practiced along with his weapons, fighting invisible enemies, spinning and leaping through the air, springing over each other. He lost all track of time as he watched them, and was surprised when Leonardo placed his swords back on the rack.

"That's it for today, guys," he called out.

"Already?" Raphael said without thinking.

"Already? It's after two o'clock, Raph," Leonardo said with a smile. "That's usually when we stop practicing for the day."

"And then it's video game time," Michelangelo called out. "You wanna try your luck, Raphael?"

"Not today, Mikey," Leonardo interrupted, holding up a hand.

He turned back to Raphael, and Raphael felt his heart skip a beat at his brother's suddenly serious expression.

"Master Splinter asked to talk to you once the day's training was over," Leonardo continued.

"Uh—okay," Raphael said, feeling apprehension rising inside him once again.

He followed Leonardo in silence to Master Splinter's chamber, an ordinary brick room lit by half-melted candles and a rice-paper lamp hanging from the ceiling. Their father was apparently meditating there, his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed. A small teapot and a pair of teacups were placed in front of him, and the steam rising from them showed that they were about to be put to use.

"Father, I brought him," Leonardo said, sounding more formal than before.

"Thank you, Leonardo. You may rejoin Michelangelo and Donatello for the time being — Raphael and I have much to discuss."

Raphael felt something lurch inside him at those words, and at the grave expression in Splinter's dark eyes. He was barely aware of Leonardo bowing and slipping out of the room; all he could hear was a rushing noise in his ears, and the world seemed to have narrowed down to Splinter's face. He took a quavering breath and tried to clear his head.

"Do you know why I have called you here, Raphael?" Splinter asked, seemingly oblivious to his distress.

 _You don't belong here. We don't want you after all. It was all a mistake._

Raphael's breath stuck in his throat as he heard those words ringing in his ears, and dread crept through him like a dark poison in his blood.

"I brought you here," Splinter said, pouring the tea into the cups with painstaking care, "to tell you how we came to be as we are."

"As we—what?" Raphael said blankly.

"How we came to be mutants, my son. Rats and turtles do not normally walk upright like humans, speak and use weapons," Splinter said, softly smiling. He held out one of the cups. "Here, drink and listen carefully. Your brothers know the story well, but you have not heard it before."

Raphael sat in silence, gripping the teacup between his hands, as Splinter began to tell him a story — a story of a rat and four baby turtles kept in a lab as test subjects. How ninjas had broken into the lab and tried to steal the baby turtles, but the rat had managed to wound one of the ninjas, causing him to drop the bag the turtles were kept in. They were all splashed with a glowing liquid, but one of the baby turtles was almost carried off by an alleycat who wanted to eat it. The rat fought the cat, but as he drove it away, the ninjas returned and tried to seize the bag again, forcing the rat to drag it down a sewer drain. And when the rat awoke in the sewers below, he had gained a larger, more human-like body, as had the three turtles with him.

"And so did the turtle left in the alley above," he finally finished. "The rest of the story, you know."

 _That was me,_ Raphael thought, gripping the cup even more tightly. _I was the turtle who was almost eaten… and the cat…_

Splinter's head bowed slightly, and he set aside his own teacup. "Which brings me to the second reason I wished to speak with you."

Raphael tensed, bracing himself against the fear that had consumed him a short time before. If Splinter was going to say anything, it would be now.

"I wish to ask… your forgiveness."

Raphael blinked. "My—my what?"

"Your forgiveness." Splinter looked up at him, with tears swimming in his dark eyes, and an expression of painful grief and longing on his face. He placed his hands on Raphael's shoulders, drawing the Turtle closer to himself, as if he were going to hug him once again.

"I know that you have suffered a great deal, my son, and I blame myself for every day you were alone. I know that I can never truly make it up to you. But I do want you to know…. I never wished to leave you behind, and your brothers and I never rested in our quest to find you and bring you home with us. Where you belong, always."

Raphael felt something in his throat again, a hard and choking lump that seemed to be squeezing tears into his eyes. He ducked his head in a futile attempt to keep them from being seen, but he had the feeling that Splinter would know even if he couldn't see them.

"This isn't right," he choked.

Splinter's eyes widened, and his fingers tightened on Raphael's shoulders, as if he were afraid that his once-lost son was about to run out of the room. "I do not understand," he said softly.

"It—it isn't the way things are," Raphael said, words haphazardly spilling out of him before he could think of them. "I never—I never had a place before. Or a name. Or anything. I wanted it, more than anything, but I never—I never did — and it all seems like a dream — and I know I'm going to wake up from this, but I don't want to—"

His words were cut off as Splinter folded his arms around Raphael once again, drawing his son's head down to his shoulder. A few ragged breaths escaped Raphael, but he forced himself not to cry, to choke down the lump in his throat. He could feel Splinter's hand gently rubbing circles on his shell, as the rat gently rocked him back and forth.

"This is not a dream, Raphael," Splinter said softly. "You will never wake from this. From now on, your brothers and I will be here for you, no matter what troubles or struggles you encounter." He gently stroked Raphael's head, and the Turtle closed his eyes. "You have suffered terribly, my son. But those who have suffered are often the ones with the greatest hearts, and I know that yours is one such heart.

"Now your suffering is at an end, but you need not push yourself too fast into your new life. We shall give you as long as you need to become acclimated to it, and to become who you were always meant to be. And no matter what that is, you must always remember that your family will love and cherish you. You must never be afraid that you are unwelcome, or that you are not loved. Do you understand?"

"I—yes," Raphael said faintly.

Splinter gently drew back, and rose to his feet. "And as a sign of this, I have something for you," he said.

From one of his sleeves he drew something small and red. Raphael felt his heart constrict as Splinter unfolded it, revealing a mask identical to those worn by his brothers.

Raphael closed his eyes as his father fastened it around his face, knotting it behind his head and adjusting the eyeholes so that he could easily see through them.

"So, my son," Splinter said with a smile, holding up a small mirror, "what do you think?"

Raphael touched the side of his head. "I look — just like them."

"You are one of them, and this mask shows it." Splinter smiled. "Now, we should rejoin your brothers, and talk about what our future holds."

"I—yes, sensei," Raphael said, feeling a smile creeping across his face.


End file.
